


Dreaming

by Syrum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corypheus has fallen, and Cullen has been left alone to his addiction.  He is slowly breaking apart, losing his grip on reality, not sure what is real and what is not any more.  Lyrium withdrawal is not well documented, and it's clear to all that it's slowly driving him mad.</p><p>Dorian is focused purely on rectifying the problems in his homeland; nothing else matters right now.  Until a letter arrives from the Inquisitor that he just cannot ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Dreams

The nightmares were getting worse. Every night he would awaken in a pool of his own sweat, tears streaming down sallow cheeks, the last remnants of his agonising screams lingering on his lips and stinging his throat. Sometimes it would be bad enough that sleep would evade him, other times he would try to sleep again only to awaken hours later in the same state from another horrific dream.

Sometimes he would see the horrors he had lived through at Kinloch hold, the faces of demons and mages, and he would feel the pain all over again as though he was reliving the event. Sometimes, Kirkwall would haunt him, an all-out massacre of Templars, mages and those unfortunate enough to get in the way. He knew he had killed more than one innocent during that brutal period, along with a good many blood mages and apostates, and every single one of them haunted him. His mind had even started to twist recent events, seeing the Inquisitor fall, watching his friends die one after the other. He knew, upon seeing them alive, that the images he conjured in his feverish dream-state were not true, and yet it felt close enough to reality that he could well believe that they had all fallen in place of Corypheus.

After their final battle with the darkspawn magister, the Inquisition had remained at Skyhold, and he had remained as the Commander of their forces for a time. Slowly, though, as the dreams got worse and the day-visions started, his men started to lose focus, lose their faith in him as a leader. He had stepped down before Cassandra had been forced to make the call, the Seeker taking over his position. It was a temporary measure, she said, but they both knew he was getting worse.

It had been triggered, initially, by the lyrium withdrawal, the scream of his blood for the blue liquid driving him near-mad. He had slipped, twice, had resorted to opening the wooden box with the Templar insignia and giving in to the call of the drug. It gave him temporary relief, and the first time he did it he was able to sleep through the whole night without disturbance. He wondered, at the time, if it was worth it, and knew the next day that it was not, upon seeing the look of disappointment on Lavellan’s face as the Inquisitor had turned and walked away from him. 

The second time it happened, he avoided her. He couldn’t live with the guilt that her disappointment instilled in him. It didn’t matter much, though, the dose seemed to do so little that he wondered, perhaps, if it had been replaced with something less potent. He still awoke screaming, still suffered through the night, though the shakes were less and the cravings were gone. The dreams, it seemed, were there to stay, whether he was taking the lyrium or not.

After Cassandra had taken over his position of Commander, he had cleared out his office and bedroom, moving initially to one of the rooms that overlooked the balcony over the courtyard. It was nice, the room was warm and he no longer had to suffer the gaping hole that had split the roof in his old room. It didn’t last long, though; his night terrors, and subsequent screams, were too loud, waking others an instilling both fear in his wellbeing and annoyance at his continued presence in those who occupied the rooms around his own. He was soon moved to one of the other towers, in a worse state than his previous one, and yet he found he could not complain.

He spent much of his time sitting in a moth bitten chair at his window, in the library or wandering aimlessly around the castle keep. Days and nights merged together, with only the rise and set of the sun giving him any indication of passage of time, sleep coming as and when he could get it. He would still occasionally train in the yard, determined to do something at least to keep his body active, though the distrustful and pitying stares from men he did not know the faces of – new recruits, he assumed – soon chased him from even there. The library was of some comfort; no one there paid him any attention, and since Dorian’s departure back to Tevinter the window on the west side had remained unclaimed.

It may have been his imagination, likely was considering how long it had remained unoccupied, but Cullen was certain that the chair he now occupied, surrounded by imposing bookshelves and the heavy weight of books and manuscripts upon them, still smelled faintly of the mage. Of the spiced fragrance that the man so loved, and the heady scent of magic, it seemed to permeate the seat in a way that was both comforting and saddening. He missed the mage, missed their chess matches and the banter, and the way Dorian had never once judged him for anything other than his choice in attire. He even missed the flirting, innocent though it was, the man never meaning any of what he said. Or, if he had, he hid it well.

Dorian had chosen to return to his homeland after the fall of Corypheus, as nothing remained in the south to keep him at Skyhold. That had been almost a year passed, and he showed no signs of returning. Letters had, on occasion, been delivered to the advisers from the man, informing them of his wellbeing and any progress made, but as far as Cullen was aware nothing had been received for quite some months. Not that he was in any position to access such letters, since his position was revoked, but it did concern him that the ever-talkative mage had remained silent for so long.

The sun was starting to set, golden light shimmering through the window and over his drab form, the book he had plucked at random from one of the shelves some half a day earlier still unopened in his gaunt hands. He considered leaving to find something to eat, scarcely touching food of late as the withdrawal sapped any hunger he might have felt, the aftermath of yet another lapse. He knew that if he did not show his face for dinner, Leliana or Josephine would ensure a meal was ready for him once he returned to his tower, though whether or not he chose to eat remained to be seen.

He had, more than once, wondered whether it would be better for him to return home, to remove the burden of his presence from the Inquisition. They had enough to concern themselves with, he was only in the way as he was now. But then, to return to his home, his family, and allow them to see what he had become, it was unthinkable. No, he would have to remain where he was, for now at least. Until he got better, or worse, or until the Inquisition had no choice but to abandon him. He would stay out of the way until that time.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” The blonde’s head whipped around, eyes falling on a figure he hadn’t expected to see, whose death he had seen over and over in his mind’s eye, torturing him. He wondered if this was, perhaps, another of his waking dreams, and had no way of knowing whether he was even still conscious.

“Dorian?” His voice sounded broken, strange even to his own ears. He had barely spoken to anyone for weeks now, had avoided human contact. Lavellan had tried for so long to keep him active, to include him, even asking him to join her on excursions out of the castle, but he was too much of a liability, and he could see how much his waking dreams disturbed her.

“Fastevas, you look terrible!” The mage had moved to his side, cool hand hovering over his fevered brow, the usual smirk switching to a concerned frown. Cullen could do nothing but lean into the touch, squeezing his eyes shut as tender digits travelled down to lay against his cheek. He was sure this was another hallucination, that it wasn’t real, but yet still he wanted to cling on to the image.

“Please tell me you’re not another dream, that you’re really here?” The whimpered words sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. He could feel tears pricking behind his eyes as he reached up to grasp the hand, holding it in place, even as the elaborate rings the mage always wore dug into his fingers.

“Of course I’m real. Maker, Cullen, what’s happened to you?” Dorian’s face was so close to his own, inspecting his tired, sunken eyes and sallow skin, the lank blonde curls upon his head and his now extremely prominent cheekbones. He looked utterly terrible, he knew, and yet he did not care.

“It doesn’t matter. Please, I need to know you’re real.” He reached out then, pulling Dorian to himself, desperate for contact with another living creature no matter the cost.

Cullen awoke, alone, in the chair, book still balanced upon his lap. His anguished howl echoed about the library and out, across most of Skyhold. No one came.


	2. Dorian

Dorian was, slowly but surely, starting to loathe his countrymen. He had found a loyal group of followers, it was true, but the amount of false smiles and back stabbing – as much as he expected it – was really starting to grate on him. It was with a tight-lipped smile, then, that he greeted the latest of his guests, sitting down with a group of strangers for what was likely to be yet another failed and frustrating dinner party. He could already see that the man stationed to his left was itching for a fight, and while their weapons may only have been words - for the most part, at least - one wrong move and it would be suicide.

The talks were not going well. He had met with almost every altus in Tevinter, and most had outwardly stated their dislike for both him and his cause. His followers were extremely limited in number, and he could feel the interest of some of them starting to wane. It was, then, of little surprise that by the time the wine had been poured, one guest was already dead and three others had left in disgust. By the end of the evening, he had gained no further supporters and lost two of his serving staff, meaning that not only was he no further forward, he had in fact taken a step back. And they had finished the last of the 9:02 vintage wine, to his utter disgust.

It was late, the house was deserted, the house the Inquisition had funded for him, and yet Dorian could not sleep. Something prickled at the back of his mind, something unpleasant. He thought, perhaps, that another assassination attempt on his life was due, and yet nothing came, no intruder, nothing that might trigger that level of paranoia. He wondered, for a time, if he were in fact growing paranoid. He had spent countless months on his quest, trying to change the minds of men and woman who were grown, conditioned, to think in the way they did. And, he was failing. It was a bitter pill to swallow, accepting that no matter how hard he tried he was not going to succeed, and yet it looked as though that may well be the case. The men of Tevinter were not so easily converted to a more modern way of thinking.

Sun rose, and it was a sharp knock at the door that roused the slumbering mage. He awoke with an undignified snort, having dozed off in his chair at the window, and was thankful none were present to witness it. He heard low muttering downstairs; one of the cooks had clearly answered the door, considering his night staff had left him that past night, and he could hear her light footsteps ascending the stairs to his room. She knocked, lightly, and he called for her to enter after quickly checking his appearance in the large mirror upon his wall.

“Sorry to disturb your rest, Messere, a letter came for you.” She bowed low and he waved the gesture off, still trying to get his staff to act more normally around him - yet another thing he was failing at, it seemed.

“And a good morning to you, Laila.” He greeted the tiny elf with a broad smile, taking the parchment from her fingers and inspecting the seal. Inquisition, as he had expected, likely wondering why he had not written to them in almost a month. It was sweet, he thought, that Josie worried about him so, and he did feel somewhat guilty at neglecting to write.

“May I return to my duties, Messere?” Laila asked quietly, shuffling on the spot and looking rather frightened.

“Of course, don’t remain on my part. Do be a dear and give me a shout when breakfast is ready? I’m positively famished this morning.” The girl bowed low and fled, and he had to wonder exactly what her previous master had done to leave her so utterly terrified of him. She had been a slave, but her master had been unknown to him when he had picked her up as ‘second hand goods’ from the market, giving her a job and a wage. He acquired all of his staff thus, and yet they continued to leave him. Dorian wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing wrong.

Picking up his knife from the dressing table, the mage flicked open the wax seal with practised ease, eyes skimming over the parchment. He frowned; it was unusual for Lavellan to pen a letter to him, usually Josie or Leliana or occasionally Cullen would be the ones to write, and yet here he held a parchment near-begging for his return to Skyhold. The letter did not go into detail on why she needed him back there so badly, just that Cullen was unwell and his presence was required.

He could not turn the woman down. She had, after all, been one of his few steadfast friends, and one of the only people he could trust. She had saved all of Thedas from Corypheus’ treachery, and had been sending him regular ‘donations’ to ensure that his work in Tevinter could continue unhindered, considering neither his mother nor his father would have any part in it. Pulling a quill and ink pot from his drawer, along with a sheet of lightly scented parchment, Dorian penned a quick response, sealed it and strode from the room to locate a servant who might be able to get the thing sent. It should arrive with the Inquisitor long before he did, and yet he could not dally, and was ready to leave by midday. He left Laila in charge of the grand house, with a coffer of gold should she need anything, and rode out with a small company of hired guards just to get him to the border. It would seem like a long trip back, he thought.


	3. The Approaching Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept this one purposefully short...I think you'll understand why.

When Cullen next awoke, it was to the rhythmic drip of rain hitting the roof above his head and tumbling down the slates to land upon the wooden floor of his room through the many gaping holes that dotted his ceiling. He was back in his own bed, with no recollection of how he got there, and with a splitting headache. Moving from the itchy sheets, ignoring the mould that was starting to grow up one corner, he stood beneath the icy water cascading into the room, slaking his thirst and washing away at least some of the filth that had built up over the previous days. They had tried to repair the roof, to give him at least some semblance of comfort, and yet he had refused each and every time. He was even sure why he was resisting their efforts any more, and yet he continued. It was the only control he seemed to have any more.

“You’ll catch cold if you stand there much longer.” Cullen whipped his head around in shock, finding Dorian sprawled across his bed. The mage had begun to make fairly regular appearances, so much so that it should not surprise him any more, and yet it always seemed to. He wasn’t truly there, Cullen knew that, and yet he found the presence of the illusion comforting.

“You’re back, then?” He asked lowly, stepping out from under the torrent of water and shaking his hair like a dog, the mage making a disgusted noise as water landed upon the bed.

“I never left.” Dorian had curled himself around to get a better view of the ex-Templar as he stripped off his wet sleepwear, making an appreciative noise as Cullen stood before him, entirely nude, and dripping wet. He wondered idly if he would have felt any sort of embarrassment exposing himself so if the vision on the bed had been real. It didn’t matter, he decided, the edge of the bed dipping as he sat, scooping up the bowl containing the remnants of last night’s meal and swallowing the cold congealed mess without tasting it. It was food, it kept Leliana from asking questions, it did not need to taste good.

“It looks like the rain might carry on for another week.” He stated, for lack of much else to say. The imagined mage had moved from his position to curl against Cullen’s back, arms around his chest while slender fingers played with the blonde curls that sprouted there. The mage felt warm against his chilled skin, and the drag of flesh against his own made him shudder.

“You’ve no reason to go out in it, stay here with me for a time.” Turning, he found that the mage was as bare as he himself was, and not for the first time Cullen berated himself for wanting what he could not have. Still, the imagined Dorian was more than willing to cater to his desires, and he soon found his lips caught in a searing kiss. It was so warm, hot, and he loosed a small moan as the hands upon him became all the more insistent. He wanted this, so very badly, turning to kneel upon the bed and deepen the kiss. Scarred lips parted, and a talented tongue pushed forward to tangle with his own. They drew apart, panting heavily, and the mage’s questing fingers finally found one of the blonde’s nipples, twisting and flicking at the tight nub in a way that sent pleasurable tingles down to his swelling cock.

“Maker help me, Dorian, I want you.” He gasped out, as the mage grinned and dipped his head down, past the kiss that Cullen tried to initiate, sharp teeth biting into his neck hard enough to draw blood. The ex-Templar loosed another sharp cry, hips bucking forward, looking for any kind of friction and finding none.

“So _impatient_ , my beautiful Cullen.” The mage purred, lapping at the damage he had inflicted, hands travelling across taut stomach muscles that were not as defined as they once might have been and heading down, so very close to where Cullen needed them to be. He managed to pull Dorian up for another passionate kiss, drowning in the scent and the feel of this wonderful, exquisite beauty that shared his bed.

When he finally pulled back once more, the hands were gone, as were the lips, and he found himself alone upon his bed. He was achingly hard, stomach clenching unpleasantly as he forced back tears of frustration and humiliation, the gaping hole in his heart growing larger still. He would not finish himself, not without Dorian, and so he resumed his place under the now-trickle of rain, the water mingling with tears he refused to acknowledge.

Cullen did not venture from his room until much later that afternoon, the rain still falling steadily as he found himself upon the battlements, walking aimlessly for something to do. He passed only a scant handful of people, mostly soldiers, and each one hurried past trying not to meet his eyes. He barely noticed when a pair of guardswomen trudged past in sodden armour, the taller of the two turning to regard him for a moment before frowning and turning to her companion.

“Wasn’t that Cullen?” She asked lowly to the shorter woman. “I had heard he won’t entertain company from even the Inquisitor herself now.”

“Yeah, thass’im. Won’t talk to no one no more, some sorta sickness or somethin’. Sad, if you ask me.” The shorter guard replied. “Why’d you ask?”

“Well,” She turned once more, glancing at his retreating form. “ _Teeth_ marks.”


	4. What You Can't See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, look, another chapter!

Cassandra made the short climb up the ladder to Cullen’s bedroom soon after nightfall. She knew he would be there at that time, rather than wandering the grounds or holed up somewhere secret, and she needed to speak with him. One of her guardswomen had approached her that evening, at the end of her patrol, to express concerns for the ex-Commander. That in itself wasn’t particularly strange, many of the troops had done the same over the past months, but the mention of an unusual red wound upon the man’s neck had piqued her interest. The soldier had stated the wound looked like teeth marks, not from any animal but rather from something more human, and as far as Cassandra was concerned Cullen had interacted with no one for such a long time, it made her curious.

The rung of the ladder beneath her feet crunched as she put her weight on it, threatening to snap. She made a mental note to replace the thing the next day once Cullen had stepped out, not planning on telling the blonde, knowing he would only protest if he knew what she was doing. She reached the top without further incident, and was rather surprised to find the man fast asleep upon his bed, covers draped over his waist and legs, leaving his torso bare. The moonlight peeking through the clouds was enough for the Seeker to see by, since the rain had slowed and finally stopped, for the moment at least.

Cullen looked pale, too pale even under the washed-out moonlight, and gaunt. He still had muscle tone, but it was fading, and another month would see it gone entirely. High cheekbones sat above sunken cheeks, it was no wonder the recruits believed him to be ill. He was, in a sense, though not in the way they assumed. Stepping closer, Cassandra could see a series of pale scratches running over the man’s skin, clearly from fingernails, likely his own she thought as he twitched and pulled at his arms in his sleep, the starts of another nightmare. She shivered; the room was cold, almost unnaturally so, though it was no wonder with so many gaping holes decorating the roof.

As Cassandra drew closer, she was able to see the teeth marks in question, adorning the side of Cullen’s neck. She frowned, moving around the blonde’s bedstead so that she might gain a better view. They certainly looked human, or perhaps elven, and Cullen certainly could not have made them himself. They were the wrong shape for a dwarf, and entirely too small for a qunari.

“Cass..?” Cullen whimpered slightly, and she startled, leaning over the bed, her weight indenting the edge of the mattress.

“I’m here.” The Seeker replied, before realising that Cullen was still dreaming, eyes screwed shut and twitching against whatever unseen thing was tormenting him. Her voice did little to soothe him, but when she reached out and took hold of his hand, fingers so very cold, he seemed to calm a little, growing still.

She remained like that for some time, before her own need for rest called to her, and she slipped silently away. As she descended the ladder, Cassandra took one last look back over to the figure on the bed. It may have been her imagination, but she was certain the mattress had dipped where she had been leaning, as though someone were now sitting there. A silly notion, she thought, leaving Cullen in peace. An old mattress, holding the shape of her hand long after it was gone, she would simply acquire a new one for him.

“How is he?” The Seeker wasn’t surprised when Lavellan joined her outside on the battlements, the petite elf concerned for the well being of her friend, which was understandable considering his present state.

“It isn’t looking good.” Cassandra sighed, putting an arm around the shivering Inquisitor, thinking to berate her for her lack of cloak but thinking twice when the elf wrapped her own arm around her friend’s waist. “He is allowing himself to rot, and I am not certain what can be done about it. We have tried everything, and still he continues to wane.”

“I’m scared, Cass.” The elf sniffled, only partly from the cold. “We got through so much together, all of us, and now we’re losing him to that blasted lyrium.”

“Has there been any word from Dorian?” Tevinter was around a months trek on horseback, and taking into account the speed of the courier carrying the letter, he would still be a good few weeks away, and that was if he had left immediately, or even at all.

“A letter, this morning. He said he’s coming, and should be with us before the crystal grace blooms.” She paused for a moment, dipping her head in greeting to a guard passing them on his patrol. “I checked, the first buds are showing.” Lavellan added hopefully, earning a slight squeeze from the Seeker.

“I just hope that there’s something he can do.” Cassandra sighed, leading the Inquisitor down the stone steps and onto the courtyard. “The bite mark is there, that much is certain. I would ask him how he got it, but I doubt he would remember.”

“Perhaps I should take the chess board over tomorrow? I could ask then?” They reached the main entrance hall, stepping from the chill night air into the pleasant warmth of the large room, fires roaring in each of the massive fireplaces and doing a reasonably good job of heating the place.

“That might be an idea, actually.” Cassandra agreed with a small smile, the crows feet at the corners of her eyes so much deeper of late, from too much worry, too much work and not enough sleep.

“He does seem to perk up whenever we play; he was almost like his old self last week. I’d visit him more, but I’m always so busy.”

“You’re the Inquisitor, that you spend so much time with him at all is laudable.” The Seeker stated before they drew apart, standing for a moment in companionable silence before parting for the night, each returning to their own, warm bedchambers.


	5. Welcome Home

”My dear Lavellan, it has been entirely too long!” Dorian dismounted from his horse with his usual flourish, gathering the small elf up in a short but heartfelt embrace. She hugged him back tightly, happy to have her friend home once more, hope filling her heart-shaped face as his arrival and not quite diminishing just yet.

“I take it your trip wasn’t too arduous?” She asked as they separated, tugging his sleeve to get him to follow as she headed into the castle walls and towards the main hall. He would have followed anyway, but the action was endearing and it brought a smile to his face.

“No more so than was expected, it’s a long way from Tevinter and there are rather too many bandits on the road for my liking.” He waved to Cassandra as they passed, the woman putting their soldiers through their paces in the main training yard. Strange, he thought, to see the Seeker there in place of the Commander, but he simply shrugged it off for the moment.

“You didn’t run into any trouble, I hope?” Lavellan looked concerned for a moment, but a quick glance up and down reassured her that the mage had come to no harm, no rips or scuffs in his robes and no marks upon what skin was visible.

“Nothing a good, strong bolt of lightning couldn’t fix.” Dorian laughed, throwing an arm over her shoulder as they made their way up the steps and through to the war room.

“Thank the Maker.” Leliana breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped through the doorway, and he stared at her, puzzled. “I had thought you would never arrive, it is getting worse by the day.”

“What’s getting worse? I still don’t know why I was asked to come back so suddenly.” There was a nervous laugh to his tone, and his eyebrows drew together in concern, though he remained otherwise unruffled.

“You did not tell him?” Cassandra had finished up with early her troops and followed swiftly after the pair, entering the room only moments after them.

“I haven’t had chance.” Lavellan admitted, sharing a look with the woman that Dorian could not read. “And I didn’t think it appropriate to do so in my letter.”

“No, you were right to do so, I would not wish to hear of such a thing by courier, too far away to help.” Leliana was at the Inquisitor’s side, reaching up to give the worried-looking elf a small squeeze on the shoulder, hoping to offer some reassurance to the younger woman.

“Could someone _please_ tell me what is going on?” The mage finally snapped, mouth twisting into a frown. Something bad, he knew, had happened and yet no one seemed willing to speak with him of it, or at the least they seemed reluctant. And yet, that was why they had summoned him back to Skyhold. All he knew was that the Commander was unwell, and also suspiciously absent, both from greeting him at the gate and also from the war room. Dorian’s heart pounded within his chest, mind doing all sorts of horrible things, imagining the worst possible scenario. Did they not realise they were torturing him, withholding information in such a way?

“I take it you knew about Cullen’s choice to stop taking the lyrium?” Cassandra asked lowly, moving to lean against the table, regarding Dorian with a critical eye. “Well, after you left, the symptoms became,” Here she paused for a moment, searching for a word that would not come. “Strange.”

“Strange how?” He had stepped forward, fingers absently playing with the rings that adorned his fingers, twisting them around for something to occupy his hands.

“The nightmares have gotten worse, and he seems to space out during the day. He called them ‘waking dreams’, and it’s like one moment you’re right in front of him, and the next he’s somewhere else entirely.” Lavellan’s voice was trembling as she spoke, seemingly on the verge of tears. “He’s not eating, not sleeping, and he barely knows who we are any more.”

“Fastevas!” Dorian swore loudly, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you call for me earlier? Maker, this is not good.”

“There’s more.” The petite elf added, and he turned his back to her, rubbing at his eyes. “I still play chess with him a few times a week, but each time it’s like he hasn’t seen me in months! He’s forgetting whole days, as though they never happened.”

“Where is he now?” The mage’s tone was low and dangerous, and the Inquisitor could not help but wince slightly, her guilt evident in her expression.

“He hasn’t left his room today, to my knowledge.” Cassandra cut in, taking the mage by the elbow and leading him from the room, away from the clearly distressed elf. “I will show you. You will not like it.”

“Oh, something else I won’t like? How lovely. I utterly abhor this whole situation, so please, lead on.” He was worried, terrified perhaps, and she knew this. As much as Dorian was loved by many in the Inquisition, there were few that the mage of Tevinter had truly trusted himself, and Cullen had been one of the lucky few. She had heard him mention previously that he was lacking in friends, much as she herself was, and she knew the loss of the man would hit him just as hard as it would her.

“I am hoping that you might know of something that can be done.” She sighed as they made their way swiftly up to the west tower. “Though at this point, I am uncertain as to whether it will be possible to help him”

“Why did you not write, Cass?” Dorian sighed, taking the steps two at a time, the Seeker keeping pace.

“We did not realise quite how bad it had gotten until recently.” She admitted, easily keeping pace with him. “I blame myself, for not paying close enough attention. I had thought, in time, he would recover.”

“Except he hasn’t, and-” The mage stared up at the crumbling tower before him. “Would you mind telling me why the _fuck_ you have him holed away in a _ruin_?”

“It was his choice.” The Seeker replied, though there was little conviction in her voice. “His screams were disturbing the soldiers.”

“And that’s an excuse?” Dorian whipped around to face her, nostrils flaring, more furious than she had ever seen him. “Vishante kaffas! I swear to you if he does not make it through this, I am holding each and every one of you accountable.” He left her standing outside the tower, pushing open the heavy wooden door, the hinges creaking as he stepped into the dingy room and began the climb up the ladder to Cullen’s bedroom.


	6. Just in Time

Cullen had been fine that morning, better than he had in months really. His hallucinations and all but stopped over the preceding days, as had the worst of the nightmares, and he had hoped that he was finally on the road to recovery after so many months of mental torture. He had dressed in clean clothes, humming softly to himself, wondering whether he should join Cassandra for breakfast as he stared out through the cracked window overlooking the castle grounds, smiling as he watched one of the elf children chase a mabari pup while his mother looked on.

“Where are you going, my love?” Hands had wrapped around his chest, causing him to stiffen as they began to unfasten the laces at the top of his tunic. Cullen had turned, taking the ring-clad hands within his own to still them, gazing down at the mage. He had hoped, really hoped, that the hallucinations were behind him, and yet there in front of him Dorian had stood, a wicked smirk upon his lips.

“Just out for a walk, why don’t you come with me?” He had known the answer even before the words left his mouth; Dorian, this Dorian anyway, never wanted to leave the tower, never wanted _him_ to leave the tower, content to remain in the small room, just the two of them, with no one to interrupt or get in the way.

“You don’t _really_ want to leave me, do you, my Cullen? Come back to bed, love.” Cullen had found himself complying without really questioning it, and for the first time that truly concerned him. He hadn’t much remembered the short trip back to the bed, or how he had ended up naked upon it with the imagined Dorian equally naked atop him, straddling his hips.

“I should probably get something for us to eat at some point.” The man tried, though as he stared up at the mage he could not help but frown; wasn’t that mole normally on the right side of his face, not the left?

“Later, my darling. Let me love you for a while first.” Dorian’s voice had sounded all wrong, though he was not able to pinpoint exactly as to why. His eyes were wrong, as well, but it was not until the mage leaned in to nip a little too sharply at his earlobe, drawing blood, that Cullen finally had the presence of mind to push the other man off him, the irritated hiss from the hallucination enough to make his blood run cold.

“ _Enough!_ I have had enough of this.” He had tried to stand, to move from the bed, not sure where he needed to be other than away from the images that tormented him. Dorian had not allowed it though, forcing him back down with strength that he knew the mage did not possess, whispering something sharp and broken into his ear in a language he could not comprehend. Not Tevene, certainly, and while he could not understand the specific words, he knew their meaning.

“ _You are mine._ ” The mage had hissed viciously, and while ordinarily he would have wondered how he had managed to understand the strange language, he was at that point more concerned with the weakness spell the mage was presently casting, draining away his ability to move until he lay, prone, upon the coverlet. “It will be much easier for you if you just stop fighting.” Cullen could only watch as the imagined Dorian dipped his head down to nip and bite at his neck, long-fingered hands running all over his still form, the touch as cold as ice and yet still he found his body reacting to the sensation. “That’s a good boy.”

“ _Venhedis!_ Be gone, _demon!_ ” A blast of purple light, and the imagined mage was flung across the room, leaving Cullen weak, bare and with an unobstructed view of the rafters. He was vaguely aware of someone speaking, and then the otherworldly screech of something he could not bring himself to comprehend. Heat and electricity sparked through the air somewhere across the room, and while he could feel it rippling over his skin, the sensation was strange, not what he might have expected.

Cullen lay upon his bed, staring up at the old wooden beams that kept what remained of his roof suspended above him. He felt unusually dizzy, any sort of movement causing waves of nausea to wash over him. He was cold, shivering violently, even under the blankets he had somehow managed to drag over himself, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, burning his throat and lungs as it went down, and he wondered for a moment whether this was what dying felt like.

Dorian, on the other hand, had the creature cornered, so to speak. The desire demon hissed and spat at him, throwing first ice and then flame in his direction, all easily deflected by his barrier. He swung his stave around with ease, even within the confined space, easily flooring the demon. It stared up at him with pale, slitted eyes, spitting something hateful in his direction before vanishing. The mage cursed as his spell hit nothing but stone, blasting a sizeable hole in the wall of the already damaged tower, the demon long gone.

“Cullen?” He had returned to the man’s bedside in an instant, barely able to reach out and touch the blonde’s feverish brow before they were joined by Cassandra, who all but flew up the ladder, eyes wide and sword already half-unsheathed.

“A demon.” Dorian muttered in answer to her unasked question, barely sparing the woman a glance as he tilted Cullen’s head first one way, then the other, inspecting the superficial surface damage the creature had caused. “Desire, as if there was any doubt.”

“Is it dead?” The woman asked, blade slipping back into its sheath, though she did not quite remove her hand from the hilt.

“No, sadly not, though we will need to track it down to finish the job.” He stripped back the covers, leaving Cullen bare from the waist up, frowning at the multitude of bruises, bites and blemishes upon his torso. “And soon, if he’s to recover. It has it’s vile claws in him deep, we don’t have much time.”

“Much time until what? What exactly are we dealing with here?” Cassandra asked, glancing around the room as though the demon might still be present.

“In this case? We’re talking either a permanent possession or, best case scenario, death. If it comes back for him, he is a dead man.”


	7. Fighting With Desire

Entering the fade had been the easy part. Finding the demon in question, that would prove to be the tricky bit. As a mage, Dorian could pretty much come and go as he pleased; he walked the fade each night as he dreamed, interacting with spirits if he desired or remaining alone to contemplate the passing of the previous day if he so chose. He would on occasion stumble across a demon, though he found they were not as common as folks were wont to believe, and he seldom had any problems with them.

He had never sought out a demon before, and certainly not a very specific one, and the mage had to wonder whether it would indeed be possible if the creature did not wish to be found. There was also the concern that, by so openly announcing himself, he might well end up drawing more demons to him than he could actually handle, and he had no assistance aside from Lavellan standing guard over his sleeping form outside the fade. Not that she could do much, really, but the thought was there.

“I am here, demon.” The mage called out, as loud as possible without outright shouting, though his voice still echoed around the strangely formed space that surrounded him. “I’m here to strike a bargain, I know you can’t resist that.” His initial concern had been correct, it seemed, as the ground some feet away began to bubble, a rage demon surging up and watching him with what he thought must be eyes, though he could not be certain through the molten fire that made up the creature. Meanwhile, the tell tale scrape of a sloth demon sounded in his ears to his left, and he could all but feel the excited buzz in the air as a multitude of consciousnesses suddenly honed in on him, the one mage in the fade offering a deal.

“What is it that you desire, little mage?” The low, throaty rasp of the sloth demon made him turn, nose wrinkling at the sight of the creature. “Power? I can give you that.”

“I seek a desire demon, not the likes of you.” The mage sniffed, standing his ground and staring down the thing. “What I want you cannot give me.” The sloth demon laughed low and slow, and for a moment Dorian thought it might attack, and he breathed a sigh of relief when it withdrew slowly.

“So that is what you seek? Fair is fair, I will leave you for now, but my offer stands.” It was still there, he could feel it, though he could no longer see the demon. A multitude of others stood back and waited, to see what would happen, each one with eyes only for the lone mage.

“You came all this way, for little old me?” Dorian spun on his heel as the familiar duality of the desire demon’s voice sounded from behind him. It hovered only slightly out of arms reach, smirking at him, daring him to close the gap between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my pretty little mage?”

“A deal.” He had his staff poised, energy crackling under his fingers, not enough to be a threat but enough to warn the demon that he could well be, if pushed. “To keep you away from Cullen, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh you wonderful, sweet boy.” The demon purred, all but licking its lips, clawed hands rubbing over the well-toned body that it sported, all hard muscle and barely-covered decency. Dorian knew that desire demons made themselves appear to be more attractive to their intended victims, to make their task easier, but he was certain he didn’t normally go for men who were quite so well defined. As he watched, the image before him twisted and warped, long horns becoming soft blonde hair, wicked smile turning soft, and just the barest hint of clothing in the form of skin-tight leggings formed before his very eyes.

“What do you think you are doing?” He growled at the demon, as it stepped forward, wearing Cullen’s skin. It did not stop, and though he bared his staff at the thing, he could not use it.

“Do you not find me appealing?” It asked in Cullen’s voice, looping long, muscled arms over his shoulders. “I can see that you do. How long have you wanted me, Dorian?” It was nuzzling at his ear now, only his stave held between them keeping the demon from pressing up against him.

“Too long.” The mage murmured, shivering slightly as firm lips pressed against his jawbone. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, before pushing the creature back with rather less force than he had intended. “This is not the deal I came here to make.” He glared at the demon, who simply laughed; had he ever heard Cullen laugh like that? He wasn’t sure he had, and he found that he rather liked it. Perhaps, when he returned, he would have to find a way to draw the sweet sound from the man.

“Then what are your terms.” It asked, one hand on it’s hip, cocked slightly in a stance that the blonde would never have worn.

“Fight me.” Dorian stated, moving to a defensive stance. “If you lose, Cullen will be safe.”

“And if I win?” It tapped at it’s lips, looking amusedly at the mage.

“If you win, my body is yours to take as your own, without my mind to interfere.” It was risky, unbelievably so, but that was why Lavellan stood watch, why Cassandra had been advised to kill him should she believe him to be possessed. He had known the dangers when he entered the fade, and he knew there was no other way.

“Deal.” The spirit replied, shifting back to the near-naked form it preferred, finding it easier to fight that way. A cone of frost narrowly missed his right ear, the chilled air washing over him as he raised a barrier to help repel further attacks, lightning shooting from the end of his staff, arcing around to catch and burn the ground by the demon’s feet, missing its mark.

“Do stay still, it will make this much easier for me.” A fireball, then three more, only two on target but it was enough to make the creature hiss in irritation, replying in kind with fire of it’s own. He dodged, the flames licking at his robes, switching back to lightning, making the demon howl as it took damage from the spell.

“You’re all alone, child, what do you think you can do? Weak little mageling, you cannot win.” The demon lashed out, and Dorian managed to dodge though only barely, foot slipping as he stumbled back. It took advantage of his momentary distraction, loosing a high-pitched scream which left the mage stunned and dizzy, his head pounding as he took a direct hit. When he finally regained his senses, too many long seconds later, he found himself on his knees as the demon approached, throwing up another barrier as the creature sent a cone of ice in his direction, blocking most of the attack though only barely.

“This is not over yet.” Dorian managed to scramble to his feet, electricity curving around the demon, surrounding it and holding it in place as he loosed one ice spell after the other at the thing, ear-splitting screams ripping through the air as he brought the desire demon to it’s knees, the circle of lightning finally vanishing as the demon lay before him, defeated.

“Please, spare me.” It wailed, unable to stand. “I can give you anything you desire, I can make him yours, yours and no one else’s.”

“Disgusting.” The mage stepped over to stand by the fallen demon, sneering down at the pathetic creature. “I want nothing from him that is not given freely.” Another ice spell found the demon, freezing it in place. Swinging his staff, the thing shattered, ice splitting into a thousand pieces and killing the desire demon where it lay.


	8. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the fairly long gap between chapters, I've been quite poorly recently which has reduced my motivation to zero. So, to make up for it, here's two chapters, one of which is rather a lot longer than I had intended! Enjoy!

All sounds of chatter had fled the room at the first slight twitch from the mage, moving only marginally upon the bed and then growing still once more. Lavellan did not move her eyes from him, one of Dorian’s larger hands grasped in her own smaller fingers, and she almost buzzed with nervousness. Cassandra stood not three feet away, her pacing stopping for only a moment to regard the mage with a certain level of concern, before her feet moved of their own accord once more, the pacing resuming. Josephine sat in the corner, scribbling near-continually upon leaves of parchment, Leliana sat beside her, a constant and comforting presence. The room was barely lit, only a few scattered candles offering any source of light for those present.

“He has been asleep for some time.” Cassandra stated lowly, as Dorian’s sleeping form twitched again. “Should it really take this long?”

“He did say it might be difficult to find the demon, if it chose to avoid him.” The Inquisitor replied, squeezing the hand beneath her own, receiving no response.

“There is a chance, then, that this may not work? That the demon could return, and...” The warrior woman paused, then, swallowing nervously, her concern for Cullen far outweighing her usual bold brashness.

“There was always a chance that this would not work, Cass.” Leliana replied softly, breaking her silent vigil to move closer to the bed, staring down at the prone mage for a long moment. “There is also a chance we may lose more than just Cullen if this fails.”

“Dorian won’t fail.” Lavellan’s mouth was set in a thin line, her expression one of determination.

“Let us hope you are right.” Cassandra replied lowly, placing a hand upon the elf’s shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze. Josephine remained strangely silent, watching and waiting, the only sound coming from her never-ceasing quill.

Hours passed, and aside from a few more sharp twitches from the mage and the occasional quiet groan, nothing in the room changed. It was near sunrise by the time Dorian’s lashes finally fluttered slightly against his cheeks, eyes blinking open to stare blearily around at the gathered women, before groaning softly and raising his free hand to press against his forehead, the beginnings of a headache lancing behind his eyes.

“Well? Did it work?”

“Always so impatient, dear Seeker.” The mage chuckled to himself, loosing his hand from Lavellan’s grasp and sitting up in bed. “Yes, it worked. The demon is dead, and our illustrious Commander is now entirely free from it’s influence.”

“And how do we know that the demon does not now speak through you?” Leliana regarded him coolly, folding her arms over her chest.

“Because if he were, the Inquisitor would be the first to know, perhaps even before Dorian himself.” Josephine finally spoke, standing from her chair with a low groan as set muscles stretched themselves out. She nudged the spymaster softly with her elbow, Leliana’s gaze softening slightly as she nodded in acceptance.

“I can’t feel any demonic influence at all.” The elf confirmed, with a small smile to the Antivan woman. “The mark isn’t reacting, so I think we’re safe.”

“Excellent, I’m so glad I have your seal of approval.” Dorian added, though his tone was one of mirth and without the level of unkindness that the elf felt she perhaps deserved. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someone to see and I’m afraid it simply cannot wait.”

“Are you certain that is a good idea?” Cassandra asked as he stood from the bed, stretched, and made to check his appearance in the cracked mirror hung upon the wall.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” The mage replied, gathering his staff and slinging it upon his back before making for the door. “It isn’t as though anyone else is going to bother.” He was gone, then, and his words hung in the air long after his presence had vanished. They hurt, stung, but they were not entirely untrue and Lavellan could not contain her quiet sob of the shake of her shoulders.


	9. First Breakfast

”Are you real?” It seemed like such a strange question, and yet he seemed to have asked it so many times over the previous months. Cullen sat, cross-legged, upon what might have passed for a bed, his back against the headboard.

“I can assure you, I am very much real.” Dorian replied, sitting beside the man, the edge of his mattress dipping almost dangerously as the padding there threatened to give out entirely. “The demon is dead, it can no longer torment you.”

“And yet, everything up until this point has felt no different to the conversation we’re having now.” The blonde mused, reaching out to trail gentle fingers over the bare shoulder Dorian’s robes always seemed to show, a look of curiosity and something entirely unreadable upon his face.

“Demons are quite good at that.” The mage nodded in agreement, skin tingling slightly under the unexpected touch. “They get into your head, make you think what they want you to think.”

“Yes, I remember.” Cullen nodded, and any question his response might have drawn from Dorian was quickly quashed by a loud growl from the blonde’s stomach, seemingly snapping him out of whatever trance he had found himself in, snatching his fingers back and looking slightly embarrassed. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Dorian asked softly, moving from the bed and reaching out for Cullen, the man taking the offered hand without particularly thinking about it. “You have clearly been starving yourself, and it is not a good look on you, Commander.”

“I’m not a Commander.” Cullen replied softly, not letting go of the ring-clad fingers held within his own, standing beside the mage. “Not any more.”

“We’ll soon sort that out, don’t you worry.” The smile on Dorian’s face was enough to tie Cullen’s stomach in knots, though he had to wonder how much of what he felt was real, and how much was the demon’s lingering influence, altering his mind. “Before that, though, let’s get you dressed and fed, hm? Can’t have you leading the Inquisition’s troops looking like a bedraggled alley-cat, now, can we?”

“No, I suppose not.” He allowed himself to be led, dressing quickly before making his way down the ladder after Dorian, never taking his eyes off the younger man. He wasn’t certain whether he wanted to retake his role as Commander, wasn’t entirely certain on what he truly wanted any more.

“You’re unusually quiet, even for you.” Dorian murmured at his side as they walked along the battlements, the mage somewhat surprised when Cullen took hold of his hand and pulled him to a stop.

“I was just thinking.” The blonde replied, with a small, wry smile. “Trying to get my head in order, to work out what was real and what wasn’t.”

“Well, everything now is real, though I’m not entirely sure on how helpful that is.”

“When did you arrive at Skyhold?” Cullen asked, almost conversationally, and Dorian was certain for a moment that the man was trying to change the subject.

“Yesterday, why do you ask?”

“And you hadn’t visited before that?” A niggling doubt surfaced at the back of Dorian’s mind, an idea that he did not have as much time to dwell on as he would have liked.

“No, not since I left for Tevinter.”

“Oh.” He tried to mask his disappointment, but the way Cullen’s shoulders slumped was entirely too telling.

“Come, we will eat, and then we will talk more on this.” The mage took the lead once more, moving purposefully in the direction of the kitchens, hoping that he would be able to find them both something suitable considering the still-early hour.

In the end, two large rolls of bread and a section from a ham proved to be the only easily accessible and still palatable foodstuffs available, along with a jar of something red and sticky and a jug of what Dorian hoped vaguely was either some form of mead or fruit cider as he swiped both while the cook’s back was turned. They found a small, unoccupied room - Dorian refusing to return to the nightmare that was Cullen’s bedroom, and no longer having one of his own - which looked to be used for trade meetings, from the maps that lined the shelves on one wall. A heavy table filled the middle of the room, and around it sat a number of equally heavy chairs, not entirely comfortable but they served their purpose. Dorian took a seat first, setting out the food items and uncorking the jug, sniffing at the contents before the corners of his mouth curled into a smile.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, settling into the seat beside the mage, sitting perhaps a little too close and yet neither man seemed to mind. He took hold of one of the bread rolls, tearing off a section and nibbling on it thoughtfully.

“I’m not entirely certain, but it smells rather good.” Dorian replied, pouring a small amount into one of the battered metal goblets Cullen had procured from somewhere. “It smells somewhat like Antivan brandy, though sweeter.” He took a sip, humming softly to himself. “Certainly not as strong as Antivan brandy, either.” In fact, he would not be at all surprised if the entirety of the large earthenware jug failed to get him even mildly inebriated, but it tasted pleasant enough and that was what mattered.

“I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.” The blonde admitted after a time, and when he turned to look Dorian found that the bread roll was entirely gone, as was most of the ham and a sticky red smear at the corner of Cullen’s mouth betrayed his consumption of at least some of the jam as well. Dorian could not contain his amused snort of laughter at the sight, covering his mouth as he swallowed the piece of bread he had been chewing on, washing it down with the heady, sweet liquid in his goblet so as not to choke.

“Perhaps we should have pressed for more food, though I’m sure no one will complain if we attend breakfast as well.” The mage tore off another chunk of bread, before handing the remainder of the roll to Cullen, who took it happily and spent the next few minutes dunking sections of it into the jam, making something of a mess.

“Dorian?” Cullen had been playing with his one last piece of bread for a while now, and the sticky mess in his fingers seemed more jam than bread anyway, though as he turned to look at the mage whatever he had been trying to say died upon his lips. Dorian was watching him with such open fondness that the blonde could not help but flush, glancing away once more.

“Something is bothering you.” The mage stated, not a question, and that niggling thought he had begrudgingly dismissed previously surged to the forefront of his mind once more. “Aside from the obvious, I mean.”

“I’ve never been any good at hiding things.” The ex-Templar chuckled, though the sound was without any true mirth. Now that he knew the things he saw weren’t aspects of his imagination, that they were in fact the workings of a desire demon, he felt strangely conflicted. Relief, initially, had coloured his thoughts; he had assumed he was slowly succumbing to insanity, and knowing that was not in fact the case felt like a weight being lifted from his chest. Self-revulsion had followed, upon realising that he had given himself, his own body, so willingly to the creature out of a need for companionship and, dare he say it, love. He felt used and betrayed, and had only himself to blame. Finally, he felt guilt. The desire demon had taken on a form that it knew Cullen wanted, craved even, and Dorian had absolutely no idea. In his mind, at least, Cullen had for months been in a pseudo-relationship with a man who didn’t even know the blonde’s feelings for him even existed. It felt wrong, unbelievably and terribly wrong, as though he himself had carried out some terrible wrongdoing against the mage.

“Despite what you may have heard, I am exceedingly good at listening.” He was startled from his internal musings by Dorian’s soft voice and gentle hand taking hold of his, the mage ignoring the sticky mess that now covered his own digits and the rings that adorned them.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Cullen replied, almost calmly, before the façade broke and his face crumpled, the man slumping down in his seat as he cried openly, gasping sobs shaking his too-thin form. It should perhaps have shocked or disturbed Dorian to see the ex-Templar break down like that, and yet it didn’t. He had at least some idea of the internal struggle that still raged within the man, even though he did not yet know the full details of it.

“Start where you need to start.” The mage replied kindly, thumb rubbing over the back of Cullen’s hand, still grasped within his own. He would not coddle the man, would not clasp him to his chest and murmur nonsense as one might to a frightened child, not unless that was what he needed. The simple touch of skin on skin seemed to help as he felt the hand shift until their fingers were laced together, Cullen holding on to him as though afraid the mage might simply vanish into nothingness once more. A very real fear, and one he could understand, particularly considering the nightmare the man had been living.

“I knew it wasn’t real, I knew from the start that it wasn’t, I just thought it was my own mind playing tricks on me.” He laughed bitterly, half-choking, coughing to rid his throat of the bile that lingered there. “The lyrium, it does things to your head when you’re coming off it, makes you start seeing people who aren’t there, events that might have happened or might not, and by the end of it you’re not sure what’s real and what isn’t.”

“And the demon took advantage of that confusion to worm it’s way into your head.” Dorian finished grimly, earning a nod from his companion.

“It must have done. I don’t know where the withdrawal ended and the demon’s lies began.”

“How many forms did it take on?”

“Just one.” Cullen rasped quietly, squeezing his eyes shut, the tears having subsided. “Just the one, and I...it...I felt...” He just couldn’t get the words out, but it didn’t seem to matter, Dorian understood anyway.

“I know, Cullen. I’ve met enough of the bastards to know how they can make you feel.”

“It started to feel real, after a while. I knew it wasn’t, deep down I knew, but it felt...” A choked sob, just the one, and his eyes rolled skyward to stare up at the ceiling. “I wanted it to be real more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I don’t think I’ve known love before, not really.”

“Desire demons deal in dreams, they look into your heart and pluck out the one thing you want more than life itself, and then they offer it up to you.” Cullen simply nodded as Dorian spoke, not looking at him, not looking up from the table, his expression and hunched form a picture of misery.

“It wasn’t like this before.” The blonde husked, voice ragged from crying, earning a quizzical look from the mage.

“Before? I’m not sure I follow your meaning.”

“Kinloch Hold, there were demons back then as well.” Cullen replied, shaking slightly as he recalled the events of his youth, the ones that had sent him spiralling down a path of destruction. “I knew they were demons, that time.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Dorian could see the distress building up within the man as he spoke, and he had to admit it frightened him somewhat, though his expression remained neutral. He wasn’t sure what he would do if, after destroying the demon that plagued the man’s waking moments, Cullen’s mind fractured and broke anyway.

“No, I need to.” Finally, he turned to look at the mage, a watery smile playing upon his lips. “I’ve kept what happened locked up for too many years.” He took a shaky breath, turned away once more and continued. “They kept me alive, I still don’t know why. They showed me images, people I love dying in front of me, my fellow Templars, mages, _her_. They also made me believe, more than once, that someone had come for me, that _she_ had come for me, but it was all lies.”

“She?” Dorian asked curiously, and although he could not help the slight pang in his chest, he dismissed it as ridiculousness.

“The Hero of Ferelden.” Cullen replied softly, fondness colouring his tone. “She did come, in the end. I thought it was another of their tricks, but she beat them, destroyed them all. She saved me, and I was...less than kind, in return.”

“And she was the one the desire demon showed you?” It was a cruel question, but he had to ask, had to know. Even with the blonde on the edge of self-destruction, Dorian had to know, and he hated himself for it.

“No.” Gripping his goblet tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white with his free hand, Cullen took a long drink, steadying himself. “No, she was just a childish infatuation of mine, nothing more.”

“I won’t pry further, then.” Dorian replied, though it was killing him inside, the not knowing. Not that it made any difference, not really, it would hurt regardless of who Cullen had seen, that he knew.

“No, I think you should probably know.” He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, was certain Dorian would feel it too through their joined hands, the cool skin of the other man a stark contrast to his own sweat-slicked palms. Dorian was being so very kind, moreso than he deserved, the mage needed to know the kind of sick person he had become in the months he had been gone. It was only right, after all.

“No.” Dorian replied firmly, lips pursed. “I don’t need to know until you’re ready to speak of it, and I can see that you are certainly not ready now.” The ex-Templar blinked in surprise at the mage, before offering him a watery smile and scrubbing at his eyes in embarrassment.

“I don’t remember the last time I actually cried.” The blonde admitted after a short pause, the tracks down his cheeks mostly gone, the back of his hand damp from where he wiped them off. He looked tired, drained, and yet somehow more human than he had since Dorian’s arrival.

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” The mage smirked, using his free hand to tug a small and intricately embroidered handkerchief from his robes, passing it to Cullen who took it gratefully. “You don’t strike me as the blubbering type, though a good cry every now and then is good for the soul, or so they say.”

“Thank you.” Cullen murmured, cleaning off his face with the soft cloth. “For this, and for being you.”

“What, dashing? Fiendishly attractive?” The grin on Dorian’s lips was infectious, and Cullen soon found himself not only grinning back, but laughing softly at the mage.

“Well, yes, those too. I had meant the listening, though.” The hand in his twitched and, with some reluctance, he finally let go, pulling a face at the stickiness from where the jam had all but welded their skin together, though surprisingly Dorian did not seem to mind overly.

“Well, I did say I was an exceptionally good listener, did I not?”

“That you did.”


	10. Misrepresentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The house move is now mostly complete, so I should have more time to write which is nice!
> 
> I'm sorry for having vanished for so long, but ugh, so many boxes to pack and unpack and so much CLEANING!!

It had been a week since Dorian’s return to Skyhold, since the purging of the demon and his tearful conversation with Cullen over bread and jam. A week of spending as much time with the man as he could, making sure Cullen ate balanced, regular meals and slept in a bed that wasn’t dipping at the edges in a room that didn’t allow the rainwater to pour in.

One of the first things that Dorian had done was to move the man, somewhat forcefully, into more suitable living quarters. He had thought it best not to give Cullen the option, and while the steadily improving blonde conversed amicably with the Inquisitor over a game of chess, Dorian had taken it upon himself to move what few meagre belongings Cullen owned from the dilapidated tower to an entirely more comfortable dwelling on the upper floors of the castle, before ordering that the entrance be boarded up as unsafe. He even went so far as to replace most of Cullen’s rather sparse wardrobe; what the water hadn’t damaged beyond repair, moths had seen fit to destroy, and it wasn’t right for the ex-Templar to be seen dressed as a beggar. The earthen colours and overly simple cut of the new garments were not to Dorian’s taste, he would have preferred something more elaborate, but he knew Cullen would approve and that is all that mattered.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me.” Cullen appeared somewhat lost, sat perched upon the edge of a bed that seemed somehow too large compared to what he was used to, and the feel of a plush rug beneath his sock-covered toes was strange when stone and wood were all he had known. The room itself was smaller than the one at the top of the tower, and yet still managed to hold three times as much furniture and was delightfully warm and dry, a small fire burning in the grate.

“Perhaps not, but I know better than to leave you to arrange such things. Had I allowed you to traipse around in those rags much longer, they would likely have given up entirely and taken to decorating the courtyard in pieces!”

“They’re not that far gone.” Cullen frowned, picking at a loose thread on his shirt, cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment as the tugged thread gave way and the seam split into a hole large enough to see skin. “Or perhaps you’re right.”

“I usually am.” The mage grinned, before turning to leave, giving Cullen the privacy he needed to change into his new clothing and to allow him to settle into his new accommodation. Cullen waited until the door clicked behind the younger man, before letting himself flop back against the clean bed covers and soft mattress. A little too soft, perhaps, for his liking, but it was a decided improvement on the sagging, lumpy thing he had endured up until that point.

He was startled awake by a knock at his door, stumbling from the bed and rubbing at sleep-fused eyelids as he pushed the latch up and tugged the wooden door open, well-oiled hinges making no sound. Lavellan blinked up at him, a look of mild amusement on her face as she took in his dishevelled appearance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” She chuckled, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her as Cullen turned away to hide a yawn.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He admitted, scrubbing one hand through the mass of tangled and too-long curls atop his head. “Did you need me for something?”

“You’ve been through a lot, it’s no wonder you’re tired.” The elf smiled kindly, picking up Cullen’s boots from where he had tossed them earlier, setting them neatly by the door. “I actually came to apologise.” She admitted, all traces of humour disappearing from her expression.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for.” Cullen had moved to stand before her, clasping her shoulders and squeezing slightly. “None of this was your fault.”

“I thought I could fix it, fix _you_.” She took a deep breath, looking up so that their eyes could meet. “I had no idea there were demons involved, I thought it was just the lyrium withdrawal. You were just getting worse and worse, though, and by the time I admitted I needed help, it was almost too late. I almost lost you, Cullen! Because I was too stupid to realise that I can’t fix everything, not on my own.”

“But you _didn’t_ lose me, my friend. I’m still here.” The blonde hummed, trying to give her his best reassuring smile before tugging her into a firm embrace. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, and for that I am immeasurably thankful.” The Inquisitor took a step back, and Cullen could see the tell-tale shimmer of tears at the corners of her eyes. Before he could comment, she had grabbed a clean shirt from the pile on the bed and tossed it at him, snickering as it hit him square in the face. “Now get yourself dressed, I’m starving and you’re accompanying me to dinner.”

“Am I now?” Cullen laughed, pulling the fabric from over his eyes just in time to see a pair of breeches flying towards him, catching them with ease. “Well then, m’lady, I shouldn’t keep you waiting further.”

“May I ask you a question?” Lavellan had turned away so that Cullen might dress in peace, without her prying eyes watching his every movement.

“Of course.” The blonde replied, voice somewhat muffled as he pulled the clean shirt over his head.

“The demon, who did it look like?” She felt Cullen grow still behind her, and cursed her own curiosity. “You don’t have to answer, not if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that.” Cullen sighed, the sound of fabric brushing against fabric indicating that he had resumed dressing. “I’m just not sure yet on how to approach him about it.”

“I see.” The elf loosed a breath she had not been aware she had been holding, pleased for the moment at least that the demon had not picked her form - that would have made things entirely too awkward between the two of them. “I can’t imagine how that conversation would go.”

“Not well, I can promise you that.”

“If I can help in any way, just let me know.” She turned to find Cullen fully clothed once more, a sad smile gracing his features.

They left the bedroom arm in arm, chatting amicably, Cullen dressed in his new attire although they could do little with his hair, which was starting to resemble a lion’s mane and would require the services of a barber sooner rather than later. Despite Cullen’s extended nap, dinner was still in full swing in the dining hall, the clatter of plates and noisy chatter of those present enough to drown out their conversation. Dorian glanced up in time to see their entrance, eyes tracking the pair as they crossed the room, Cullen laughing at something Lavellan said to him, looking happier than he had seen the man in a long time.

“It bothers you?” Bull murmured into his ear, the mage’s body language enough to give him away, though the Qunari thankfully could not see the expression on his face. “You need to talk to him.”

“No, I really don’t.” Dorian sighed, tearing his eyes away from the happy couple and attacking what remained on his plate with renewed enthusiasm, though the food did little to help the churning within his stomach. “His happiness far outweighs my selfish little desires, particularly after what he had to endure at the hands of that demon.”

“It’s not like you to be so entirely selfless.” He had expected surprise, though Bull’s tone betrayed something else, something like pride perhaps.

“Well I am full of surprises, you know.” The mage replied bitterly, pushing his plate away, frowning unhappily.

“I had noticed.” Bull wrapped an arm around the much smaller man’s shoulders, tugging him close. Dorian pushed at the Qunari’s bulk, but the motion was half-hearted and he soon allowed his head to pillow upon Bull’s broad chest. “Doesn’t stop the hurt, though, does it?”

“It’s my own fault, really.” Dorian sighed somewhat shakily, earning a pitying look from Cassandra, the warrior woman seated across the table from the pair. “I let myself fall for someone entirely out of reach, as usual.”

Cullen scanned the dining hall as he ate, Lavellan chattering away to his right, each face either a scant memory or a complete stranger. It seemed that the Inquision had expanded quite substantially those past few months, and he had noticed none of it. Finally, his gaze fell upon a familiar group of faces, eyes widening in surprise and fork clattering noisily to his plate. Whatever Lavellan had been about to say died on her lips as she took in his pained expression and the look of betrayal upon the blonde’s features. It took her only a moment to notice what had drawn such a reaction from the man; Bull was outright _cuddling_ Dorian, openly and seemingly with no surprise from those seated around them.

When Cullen stood from his seat, she followed suit, taking hold of one of his hands and dragging him from the room before he could do or say anything he might later regret. She could feel his clenched fingers trembling beneath her own, his breathing unsteady behind her as they marched up the stairs to her own chambers.

“So it was Dorian?” Lavellan asked softly as she coaxed Cullen into one of the high-backed, comfortable chairs by the fireplace, starting a small fire with the well-used flint to keep the encroaching evening chill at bay for at least a short while longer. Cullen simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak for the moment, looking more miserable than she could ever remember seeing him.

“I hadn’t even considered that this might be a possibility.” The ex-Templar’s voice trembled as he spoke, huskier than usual, though to his credit he remained mostly dry-eyed. “I knew rejection was inevitable, but having to witness _that_.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes closing against the heat of the fire and brow furrowed. He had slumped down in his seat, and appeared a picture of despair to any who might be watching.

“I’m sorry, Cullen.” The petite elf dragged her over-sized chair closer so that she might reach out and take hold of his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Truly, I am.”


	11. Stargazing

She had, in the end, left him sleeping in the chair. Extra logs had been added to the fire to keep it burning for a few hours longer, as the elf slipped silently from the room, making her way down to the garden. She wasn’t sure exactly where she was going or what she planned to do when she got there, all the Inquisitor knew was that she needed air and space to think. It bothered her immensely, knowing what Cullen was going through, knowing there was little to nothing that she could do to help.

They had spent some time talking, Cullen explaining what had transpired between the demon in Dorian’s form and himself. She knew he had left out some parts, and made no move to press for more detail, simply allowing him to talk. It seemed to help, or at least she hoped it had helped, though with Cullen in the state he was in, it was difficult to tell.

“You’re out late.” Heavy footsteps a short distance away, clearly audible in the still night air, the only other sounds being the chirp of crickets and the gentle swish of the wind rustling through the branches of the trees.

“I needed to think.” Lavellan turned with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, finding Bull standing only a scant few feet away. “It’s peaceful out here at night, I like to sit and watch the stars.”

“It’s a good night for that.” Bull rumbled by way of a reply, leaning back slightly to stare up into the heavens, a million and more glimmering points of light staring right back at him. “I haven’t seen the sky this clear since last fall.”

“Hopefully it’s a sign of good weather to come.” The elf hummed, taking a seat on one of the few stone benches that were dotted around the garden. “So what brings you out here?” She regarded the Qunari with curiosity as he moved to sit beside her, the bench just wide enough for the pair to sit side by side, Bull’s large form radiating heat she found herself thankful for given the chill of night.

“Same as you; needed to think.” The arm around her shoulders was unexpected yet not unwanted, the slight elf leaning into the contact. “So, you and Cullen, then?” He finally hummed, turning to look at her as he felt the Inquisitor tense against his side.

“Creators no! Where did you get _that_ idea?” She stared up at him, mouth slightly agape.

“You just seem like a good match, is all.” He shrugged slightly, though she could not read his expression. “It’s not often I get these things wrong.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Cullen’s lovely, but he’s about as far away from my type as is possible.” The elf laughed softly, shaking her head in amusement. “And while we’re on the subject; you and Dorian? Never saw that one coming.”

“Me and..?” Bull let loose a belly-shaking laugh, clutching her to his side and drawing an indignant squeak from the elf. “Dorian’s about as likely to let me bed him as you would be to seduce a dragon!”

“So you’re not seeing each other?”

“No, he’s much too taken with your ex-Commander, though it took long enough for him to admit it.” Bull shook his head, mirth twisting into a frown. “I don’t like seeing him pining like this, but he won’t talk to Cullen about it, and I can see why considering the circumstances. Still, at least he can stop glaring at _you_ now.”

“Dorian’s in love with _Cullen_?” She asked incredulously, mouth agape.

“Love might be a bit strong, but he certainly has the hots for tall, blonde and handsome. Has done for a while now, in fact. Not that I blame him, mind; if Cullen were that way inclined, I’d be tempted myself.” The Qunari admitted, watching her curiously.

“But he _is_ that way inclined.” Pushing up from the seat, lamenting the loss of Bull’s comforting body heat, she took the massive warrior by the hand and tugged gently so that he might stand. “And he’s in pieces because he thinks you’ve gone and stolen Dorian from him.”

“Can’t steal something you never had.” Bull frowned and allowed himself to be pulled from the bench, following her back into the castle. “Not that I have, mind.”

“You can if you add a conniving desire demon to the mix.” She threw a worried glance back at the warrior, noting the same expression upon his face as well.

“So the demon took the form of Dorian? Not sure how the ‘vint will take that.”

“No idea, but from what Cullen said, it was all flowers, picnics and marriage proposals.” Lavellan shrugged and released the Qunari’s hand as they reached the hall where they were to part. “I was expecting a desire demon to be all about sex, but apparently not. Regardless, we need to fix this, since we’re the ones that caused their pain, however unintended that pain might have been.”

“Shit, no wonder he’s messed up.” Bull scratched at his chin, thinking for a moment. “I’ll fetch Dorian, though he won’t be happy about it, he hates being woken up. Where’s Cullen?”

“In my rooms, I’ve left him sleeping by the fire. Bring Dorian up, kicking and screaming if you have to, and I’ll meet you there.”

“And if this doesn’t work out? What then?”

“It has to, because we don’t have a ‘plan B’ right now.”


	12. Behind Closed Doors

In the end, no kicking or screaming was required, which was fortunate really considering the late - or, perhaps, early, depending on your point of view - hour. Despite that, though, Dorian was still entirely unimpressed at being dragged half way across Skyhold in the middle of the night, wearing little more than his sleep clothes and a plush housecoat Josephine had procured for him as a gift some months prior, though even that could not keep out the night time chill. His irritation only intensified when Bull, looking more determined than Dorian could recall ever seeing him, refused to explain why he had been pulled from his comfortable bed and the warmth of his bedroom.

“This is ridiculous.” The mage grumbled, not for the first time, shivering violently as he stumbled along in front of the Qunari. He wondered whether, perhaps, Bull assumed he would make a run for it, to return to his bed and bolt the door until morning. It would have offended him at the warrior’s lack of trust, if not for the fact that he had been considering that very thing ever since the door to his room had closed behind him.

“The Inquisitor is just up ahead.” Bull grunted, a heavy presence at his back, and Dorian could do little but roll his eyes and increase his pace in an attempt to keep warm.

“Wonderful.” The Tevinter mage drawled, though any comment he had intended to make after that died upon his lips as he rounded the corner and was faced with the petite elf, stood outside her quarters, looking immensely concerned. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Cullen, he’s...you need to talk to him.” Her voice wavered, and it appeared that she might cry, though Dorian did not stick around for long enough to find out whether she did or not - Bull could handle the Inquisitor, he thought, as he took the stairs up to the elf’s bedroom two at a time, not registering the click of the door behind him or the low grate of a key in the lock.

“Cullen?” The room was lit by three separate sconces, and a warming fire burned in the grate, for which he was thankful. Two high-backed chairs sat side by side before the fireplace, and in the low light he could make out a slumped figure in one of them. Padding silently over to the still form, bulky house coat abandoned on the floor, Dorian quickly looked over Cullen to ensure there was at least no outward sign of injury, and he felt nothing untoward emanating from the man as he had previously.

Leaning over the blonde, Dorian balanced himself on the winged back of the chair, using his free hand to brush sweat-slicked curls from Cullen’s forehead, the man’s temperature higher than usual, though that may have been due to the heat from the fire, he wasn’t certain. The touch had been enough to wake the fitful blonde, and as honey-brown eyes fluttered open to blink up at him, Dorian felt his stomach clench and his heart tremble.

“Is this another dream?” Cullen asked softly, reaching out to wrap his arms around Dorian’s neck, much to the mage’s surprise, pulling the younger man in so that their foreheads could rest against one another, loosing a shaky sigh as his eyes drooped shut once more.

“I would say ‘no’, but I’m not so certain myself.” The mage replied with a low, breathy laugh, his usual confidence and composure long since lost in those still-strong arms and the intoxicating scent of the other man. “Are you quite alright?”

“I’d by lying if I said I was.” The rueful smile upon Cullen’s lips was enough to break even the hardest of hearts.

“What can I do?” Dorian gripped the arms of the chair tightly, partly to stop his hands from shaking and partly to stop his fingers reaching out to card through those damnable blonde curls that he adored so much. “What do you need?”

“I need you.” It was little more than a whisper, and yet in their close proximity Dorian heard it as clear as day. “I thought, in time, I might be able to let you go, but seeing you with _him_ hurt more than you can imagine. It was too soon, I wasn’t ready for it, and I’m so sorry Dorian.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.” He had to have misheard, or perhaps misunderstood, these sorts of confessions were reserved for stories and legends, or for Varric’s entirely terrible romance novels, they did not truly happen and they most certainly did not happen to him.

“It was you.” He reached up to bury his own fingers in the mage’s hair, and though he could not see the younger man through his closed lids, Cullen heard the slight intake of breath, felt the way Dorian stiffened. “It was always you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh.” For the first time in as long as he could remember, perhaps for the first time ever, Dorian was left utterly speechless. He stared at Cullen through large, overly round eyes, wondering, again, if perhaps he had understood the man correctly.

“I know how I must look to you now.” The utter misery in the man’s tone snapped Dorian out of the near-trance he had found himself in.

“Cullen, look at me.” The mage reached up, finally, to cup Cullen’s cheeks with both hands, noting the wince from the blonde at the contact, and yet still he would not meet Dorian’s eyes. “Cullen?” He tried again, moving one hand to run gentle fingers along the man’s jaw, not applying enough pressure to force Cullen to look up, just the hint of a suggestion. It was enough, as heavy lashes lifted so that anguish-filled eyes met his own, and still he did not pull away.

“Please don’t tempt me with this.” Hand twitching in Dorian’s hair, the other wrapped loosely around the back of his neck, Cullen wanted. He wanted to pull Dorian to him, to draw him down into a soul-searching kiss, to hold the man as he had most nights for too long and yet he knew he couldn’t.

“I think no less of you.” The mage hummed, shifting closer. “Do not berate yourself for what you had no control over, and certainly do not apologise to me.”

“But-” A finger found its way from his jaw to his lips, effectively silencing him. Cullen could not help himself, his free hand moving from behind the mage to gently grip Dorian’s own, drawing it up slightly so he could press a firm kiss against the palm, eyes sliding shut and a look of pained conflict upon his features. He wanted to run, to flee from the room and not look back, but that would be the coward’s way out and while Cullen may have been many things, he was no coward.

“Part of me can’t help but wonder if perhaps it’s my turn to tangle with a desire demon.” The mage laughed breathily as Cullen’s eyes flew open, wide and glassy and so fearful it very nearly broke his heart a thousand times over to see. “Please don’t look at me like that, else I might be forced to do something we will both end up regretting.”

“Such as?” The hand in Dorian’s hair tightened, not quite painful and yet not far off, making his breath hitch tellingly in his throat.

“A few things come to mind, admittedly, but I’m finding it extraordinarily difficult at this precise moment in time to refrain from kissing you senseless.” Dorian admitted with his usual flair, though he could not help the slight tremble in his fingers, and he knew the blonde had noticed as strong digits tightened around his own.

“Oh, is that all?” Cullen replied, with far less nervousness to his tone than he truly felt. Swallowing thickly, he moved to close the small distance between them, chapped lips meeting soft yet firm ones in a chaste kiss that Dorian had not expected, and which stole his breath away.


	13. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY FINISHED IT!
> 
> I'm a terrible, horrible, awful mess of a human being and I am so, so sorry that this took so long *weeps*

Cullen was not supposed to be, Dorian thought, particularly experienced in the ways of physical intimacy. It was no secret that the man shied away from any and all offers that had come his way since the Inquisition had been founded, and Templars were expected to follow the same vows of chastity that the brothers of the Chantry did. Most did not, as Cullen had advised him one day many months previous over a chess match that had not gone his way, but some did, and being stationed within a circle tower restricted the options of the Templars there. Dorian had asked, of course, which category Cullen fell into - he had blushed and returned his attentions to the board, not bothering to answer.

So it came as some surprise when the blonde pulled Dorian into his lap, coaxing the mage into straddling his thighs, and claimed his mouth with the voracity of a man long-starved. He had expected shy kisses and trembling fingers, rather than the firm tongue that twisted against his own and the splayed fingers pressing hard against his skin through the thin fabric of his night shirt, house coat long since abandoned upon the floor. When one hand slid down to cup firmly at his ass, pulling him closer still, Dorian could not help the small, surprised squeak that emerged somewhat embarrassingly from his throat. Cullen drew back, leaving him gasping for breath and heavily flushed from the sudden influx of attention, entirely lost for words.

“Sorry, that was too forward of me.” Cullen’s words spoke of apologies, however his body did not follow suit - the offending hand remained in place, though it no longer squeezed quite so firmly, and there was a distinctly solid bulge pressing against the underside of Dorian’s thigh as he shifted in place.

“Not at all.” Dorian swallowed, finally finding his voice once more. “I simply wasn’t expecting you to be quite so...” He paused for a moment, the apparent need to locate the correct phrase masking the slight quiver that was growing in his throat. “Forthcoming. Please, don’t stop on my account.” The mage was quite thankful when, with a low chuckle, Cullen reclaimed his mouth, albeit with rather more restraint than before.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast.” Cullen pulled back just enough to dip his head under Dorian’s chin, nipping and kissing at the mage’s neck. Dorian could not help but groan, his own head tilted back to allow the man better access to the sensitive skin there. Lips clamped down just below his Adam’s apple, suckling hard at the skin there, tugging a low moan from his chest as strong, sure hands slid beneath his night shirt and up over his back. Wherever Cullen touched seemed to ignite, callouses rough against his skin, catching on the occasional slightly raised but barely visible scar.

The night shirt was gone before he realised what Cullen was doing, dragged over his head and blinding him for a moment, that hot mouth travelling across his shoulder and down his chest even as he shrugged the rest of the garment off, letting it flutter to the floor. “Tease.” Dorian murmured, lacing his fingers into blonde curls and tugging, having to stifle a moan as Cullen’s far too talented tongue lapped at one dusky nipple.

“Don’t do that.” The vibration of his voice travelled through Dorian’s chest, and he shivered slightly, fingers loosening from where they threatened to tug flaxen strands free with a murmured ‘sorry’. “No, not that.” Cullen’s hands had moved to rest upon his hips, fingers skimming over sensitive skin, stopped from continuing their path down only by the thin cotton of his undergarments. After pausing for a brief moment, he nipped at the glistening, abused nub beneath his lips, earning a low shout, the sound cut short by Dorian’s teeth sinking into his own lower lip. “Stop silencing yourself, I want to _hear_ you.”

“Oh-” Another brief nip had Dorian crying out, the sound seeming too loud in the quiet of night, accompanied by the crackle of the fire behind him. He wasn’t used to voicing his pleasures, had never truly had the opportunity to do so, and the noise that ripped from his chest was wanton and needy enough to draw a flush across his high cheekbones. Dark eyes focused on the man beneath him, pupils dilated to near-black, and Cullen was staring up at him with a look of such wonder it near enough took his breath away, eyes sparkling blue in the firelight.

The hands that had rested upon his waist slid down, taking a firm grip of his buttocks and lifting him. Dorian let out an undignified squeak, wrapping his arms around Cullen’s neck, and he might have complained at the sudden shift if not for the way the man’s mouth skimmed over his neck as he stood from the chair. An arm found his back and he was lowered, carefully, down onto the pelt strewn before the fire, soft fur tickling his shoulders as he allowed the Commander to manoeuvre him into position.

Cullen had crouched over him, panting slightly, flushed down under his collar and Dorian had decided he’d had quite enough of that. Yanking at the fabric, he pulled Cullen’s shirt up and over, as far as it would go, watching with some amusement as the man scrabbled to tug it free and lose it. The breeches were next, and Dorian barely needed to ask, the push of insistent fingers enough to spur the blond into shucking them off and letting them join the growing pile of clothing.

Dorian took a moment to admire the man above him; strong lines, a near-permanent tan that paled to lily-white beneath what would have been his collar indicating that Cullen spent entirely too much time in armour and not enough out of it, and a thick cock jutting out from between his thighs. He wondered, for a moment, what it might taste like, storing that little hum of need away for future exploration when his own wants were less urgent.

“You’re so beautiful.” He was so engrossed in drinking down everything he could see of his lover’s form that Dorian was caught unawares, gaze snapping up to Cullen’s face, eyes wide. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but you are.” Cullen shifted his weight and a gentle hand trailed over Dorian’s cheek, down his neck, splaying out over his belly.

“No, I’m not certain that you ever have.” Dorian replied, swallowing as the hand shifted lower still, still not quite where he needed yet close enough to tease. “But feel free to remind me whenever you wish.” Cullen chuckled above him, leaning back so he might sit up, thumbs moving to hook beneath the mage’s undergarments and, with a lift and a tug, the offending article was gone.

Left entirely bare before the other man, Dorian shivered, though the fire was serving to keep much of the cold at bay. Cullen’s gaze wandered over his nude form, as hungry as he supposed his own had been only minutes before. He shifted slightly, bare behind sliding easily against the soft fur of the rug, and the movement was apparently all Cullen needed to snap him out of his reverie.

Dorian found his lips captured in another searing kiss, the heat enough to rival that of the flickering flames beside them, and he moaned up into Cullen’s mouth. His hands scrabbled at the Commander’s arms, his shoulders, and Cullen lowered himself atop the mage. A firm hand wrapped around his leaking shaft, and Dorian could not help but buck up into it, letting loose a keening wail. Cullen’s own cock, thicker than his own, it seemed, yet not quite so long, rubbed against his own as the Commander took them both in hand with slow, almost teasing strokes.

“Do not _tease_ , Commander.” He was panting, eyes dilated, sweat starting to bead upon his forehead and glistening in the firelight. Cullen appeared no better off, barely restraining himself if the occasional snap of his hips was anything to go by. He could see the bob of the man’s throat as he swallowed, the hand upon their twin erections picking up speed, offering a merciful relief. Dorian pushed up into the contact, meeting each of Cullen’s own thrusts, and with very little fumbling they managed to find something resembling a rhythm. His hands dug unto Cullen’s shoulders, nails leaving little half moon-shaped crescents in his skin as Dorian tried to stave off an orgasm that was much too soon in coming.

He wanted this to last, to draw it out to a crescendo, yet it seemed Cullen was as far gone as he. Even as Dorian tried to push down his inevitable completion, Cullen’s hand sped up once more, the movements jerky and uncertain as the Commander let out a short, loud shout, spilling over his own hand and Dorian’s flexing belly. The sight of Cullen’s face, contorted in ecstasy, was enough to topple him over the edge and Dorian came, hard, chest spattered with white as he arched up beneath his lover with a low cry of Cullen’s name.

Tremors wracking his form, Dorian crashed down onto the rug at his back, panting for air as pleasured aftershocks rippled through him. Cullen had shifted his weight back onto both arms, elbows holding him above the sated mage, shoulders trembling and head dipped as he tried to regain his composure. Eventually, Dorian managed to regain enough of his faculties to fumble for something he might clean them both off on, hand settling on his nightshirt. Curling his fingers into the fabric, he wiped himself off as best he could, coaxing Cullen up so he might do the same for the other man.

“You are astonishing.” Dorian murmured, quiet enough that it might have been lost if not for their close proximity. With a nudge, he managed to persuade the man to roll onto his back beside him, taking the time to clean the last of the evidence of their tryst from Cullen’s softening cock, earning a groan from his lover. He considered remaining where he was, pillowing his head upon Cullen’s shoulder and dozing for a time, but the fire was cold with the Commander’s body in the way, and the flagstones beneath the pelt were hard and cold. So, with an undignified groan, he managed to pull himself atop the other man, letting his lips curl up in a smirk at Cullen’s surprised glance. It took only a moment for Cullen’s expression to soften into a smile though, arms looping up and around his back.

“I adore you.” Cullen nuzzled at his cheek, hands fluttering against his spine, and Dorian let himself finally release the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Fingers sliding free from Cullen’s hair, he let them slide down to cup the man’s face so that he might take and hold his attention.

“And I you.” Leaning in, he pressed their lips together, keeping the kiss chaste and sweet even as he could feel Cullen thrumming with need beneath him despite everything, clamouring for still more. But no, as much as he wished to give in to that want, this was _important_ , he needed to be certain the ex-Templar understood every thought, every feeling behind the kiss. “I thought I’d waited too long, I thought I had lost you.” He finally whispered against Cullen’s lips, not quite willing to pull away.

“I’ve been yours ever since our first chess game.” Cullen admitted, flushing under Dorian’s scrutiny. “You looked so radiant when you won, that smile...I was terrified I’d never get to see it again.” If Dorian was surprised at that, he didn’t show it, face splitting into that same winning smile and Cullen allowed himself to relax into the plush fur at his back with his own small, answering smile and the knowledge that, finally, things were starting to go right for him. For _them._

* * *

“Y’know, there’re better places to spy on our friends having sex than outside my window.” Sera huffed, trying to sound irritated and failing as she watched the small elf at her side remove the spyglass from her eye and pocket it with a grin.

“True.” Lavellan replied, turning her attention to her companion with a flash of teeth, mirth dancing upon her features. “But none with such good company.”


End file.
